


Slay Bells Ring

by Mhalachai



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Highlander: The Series, Merry Gentry - Laurell K Hamilton, Quantum Leap, due South
Genre: F/M, Gen, Holidays, Shorts, crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-17
Updated: 2004-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:24:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover ficlettes written for the Twisting the Hellmouth 2004 Fic For All.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Over Eggnog (Faith/Fraser (Due South))

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ficlettes written for the [Twisting the Hellmouth 2004 Fic For All](http://www.tthfanfic.org/). These are all Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossovers. Prompts were set up as to write a ficlette with one BtVS character with one crossover character. Each chapter will have the pairing listed at the start.
> 
> This isn't the whole collection I wrote (ten years ago _geeze_ ) but the better ones :) It's always interesting to see how one grows as a writer over the course of a decade.

* * *

Faith loaded up a small Styrofoam plate with as many cookies as it would hold, grabbed her sadly non-alcoholic eggnog and made her way back over to the corner of the police squad room she had been haunting for the last hour.

She was going to get back at Buffy for making her represent for the Slay side at the Chicago police Christmas party. Yeah, she'd gone in and kicked a little Vrakhan ass for the Five-Oh, but voluntarily hang around cops? She didn't have the best track record and besides, cops made her nervous.

So nervous, in fact, that she didn't see the large obstruction in her path until it turned around and bumped into her arm, knocking her plate of cookies to the floor.

"Hot damn," she swore as the sweets hit the floor, most icing down. This was just not her day.

"I'm terribly sorry, ma'am," her obstructer said, turning all the way around and smiling apologetically down at her.

Wow. "It's okay, you can bump me anytime," Faith said, impressed. Talk about handsome. Also clean-cut, muscular and oh-so-lickable.

"No, the fault was mine entirely," he said, bending down and picking the cookies up off the floor deftly before depositing them in a nearby trashcan. "Might I go get you some more?"

"Um, sure," Faith replied. She was getting a bit uneasy. No one was ever this nice to her.

She leaned on the wall, arms crossed, and watched her cookie man walk across the squad room to the food table. Some of the other cops nodded their hellos, but very few tried to engage him in conversation. Faith wondered if he was a civvy, like her.

Eventually, he returned. Faith frowned as she saw his cookie selection. It was exactly the same as what she had picked out.

"Good eye there," she said, jutting her chin at the plate.

He looked down at the plate, then back at her. "Where I come from, a quick wit and ready eye are needed for the job."

"Where you from, Jersey?" Faith asked, more than a little curious. She took the offered plate of cookies, shivering slightly as her fingers brushed against his.

"No ma'am. The Northwest Territories." Faith drew a blank, and her expression must have betrayed her, for he smiled slightly and continued, "In Canada."

"Hey, I knew that," Faith retorted, more than a little defensive. Was it her fault she was kicked out of school when she was thirteen?

The amusement on his face vanished into seriousness. "I meant nothing by it, ma'am, please forgive me."

"It's, you know, okay." Faith shrugged and toyed with the cookies on the plate. "And stop calling me ma'am. I'm Faith."

"Constable Benton Fraser, ma-- Faith." He smiled at her again.

Faith decided that it was a nice smile. No innuendo, nothing hidden, just a 'hey how ya been' smile.

"Is Constable some kind of new title around here?" she asked, popping a Santa cookie into her mouth.

"Actually, no," he said. "I'm a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that are best not delved into with strangers at a Christmas party, I've remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate."

Faith nodded. She got it. Revenge and all. "Wow, a Mountie. You know, I've been meaning to ask... Do y'all ride side-saddle up there? Or is that just an urban legend?" She quirked up the side of her mouth to show that she was teasing him.

"Not at all, I can assure you we ride the same way as anybody else, both feet firmly in the stirrups."

There was a coughing sound off to the right. Both Faith and Fraser looked, to see a police officer choking on his apple cider.

"Are you all right, Sergeant Smith?" Fraser asked, concern in his voice.

"I'm fine," the cop managed to wheeze. "I have to go now." He stumbled off, shaking his head.

Faith was highly amused. Who knew Canadians had such a wicked sense of humour? "So, Benny, back onto the subject... Being a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman and all that, I gotta ask -- how long as it been since you've been mounted?"

He appeared to consider. "Far too long, I must admit." He cocked his head to the side, trying not to smile. "Why do you ask?"

_the next day_

Ray Vecchio stumbled into work twenty minutes late and hung over. "Hey, Benny, did Smith spike the eggnog last night?"

"I do not know, Ray, why do you ask?" The mountie opened up another file and resumed his diligent work.

Ray shook his head and dropped into his seat. "He's saying that you hooked up with that Slayer girl at the party last night."

"Actually, her name is Faith Lehane," Fraser said, not looking up. "And the mythology behind the Slayer is quite interesting, once you get into the history behind the myth."

After a moment of silence, Fraser looked up. Ray was staring at him, slack-jawed.

"Are you all right, Ray?" Fraser asked.

"Tell me --" Ray broke off and leaned in closer to his partner. "Please tell me you didn't go home with her."

Fraser closed the last file and tapped the pile neatly together. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Ray."

As he walked to the filing cabinet, he heard Ray sputtering. He allowed himself a small smile. And to think he had been reticent to attend the party.

_...in Cleveland_

Faith dropped her bag just inside the door and sought out Buffy. "Hey, Buff, about that trip to Chicago?"

The blonde looked up from her work. "Yeah, sorry about that..."

"No, it's all good." Faith smiled. Oh, it had been very good. "In fact, I owe you one."

Very good indeed.


	2. Over Life, Over Death (Dawn/Doyle (Merry Gentry))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Set before the Merry series begins.

* * *

Dawn pulled her cloak closer around her with one hand, the other tight on her crossbow. She peered out around the ancient oak tree, straining to catch any hint of her prey.

Nothing.

The cold Solstice night air lay heavily, as if the night itself was waiting. Waiting for breath, waiting for blood, waiting for death.

Dawn shook her head, a tendril of frozen air penetrating her cloak and moving over her skin in a breath-stealing caress. She couldn't quite hold back a gasp.

At the soft exhalation escaping her lips, something moved in the darkness. Instantly alert, Dawn brought her crossbow up.

Whatever it was, froze.

Probably not the Yrecrem, then. They tended to attack at the slightest hint of humans. But then, what else could it be?

Her crossbow still aimed at the shadows, Dawn edged forward, her feet crunching on the snow. "Who's there?" she whispered. The sound carried, buffeted around in the still air.

The shadows moved, and sheer darkness stepped towards her. Dawn swallowed hard.

Then the shadow stepped into the starlight, and Dawn forgot everything else. The light, from millions of stars long dead, shone on the most beautiful face Dawn had ever seen.

His skin was as black as ebony in the light, the angles of his face as deliberate as a sculpture. But no sculpture had ever looked at Dawn with such weight in its eyes.

The dark man stepped closer to Dawn, long black cloak swirling around him like water. "You are out alone, on such a night?" His voice was as sweet and low as molasses, thick and dangerous.

Spellbound, Dawn nodded. Then she realized what she had done, and shook her head vigorously. "No!" she lied, wincing at how loud her voice sounded in the darkness. "No, I'm not."

Darkness personified stepped closer, so close he could brush aside Dawn's crossbow. "You are, I can taste it." He put his head to one side, considering. "You are hunting."

"Only demons." Dawn stared up at the man. There was magic in the air that night, wild and unfamiliar magic. She didn't know what it wanted, or how to fight it.

"Then we are here for the same purpose," he said. "We hunt this night."

Damn Buffy and Xander taking off after one of the demons on the road, leaving her here all alone, Dawn thought frantically. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice feeling thick. "What magic is this?"

Darkness regarded her, and reached one cool finger up to touch her cheek. "You have strayed too close to the Sidhe mounds on Solstice night," he said, the words sliding over Dawn's skin. "The night of rejuvenation." He leaned down to Dawn. "Rebirth." His breath touched her skin. "Re-creation. Do not think you are the only one caught in the magic."

As if it was written, Dawn turned her face toward the Darkness as he gathered her in his arms, and gently touched his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and heavy, lips dancing together, warm and moist and deliberate. She wondered if he tasted as he felt, and opened her mouth to him.

One of his large hands carefully cradled the back of her head as he held her gently to him. The softness of his tongue on her lips, in her mouth, stripped every defense Dawn had, made every nerve tingle.

Later, she would never be able to say what made her do it. All of a sudden, Dawn spun in place, bringing her crossbow up and firing the silver bolt in one clean motion. Darkness' kiss was still warm in her mouth as the blot shattered the breastbone of the Yrecrem demon, as it landed on the untouched snow, black blood bleeding, steaming, in the cold.

Panting, and not from fear, Dawn lowered her crossbow, and turned back around.

The Darkness was gone.

Dawn shook her head, the taste of him still on her lips. The magic was still in the air, and she needed to get out of there, away from the magic and away from the dark.

As she fled across the snowy fields, she did not see dark eyes watching her from the shadows.


	3. Over The Top (Cordelia/Jean-Claude (Anita Blake))

* * *

"A Santa hat."

" _Pardon_?"

"The outfit. It needs a Santa hat."

Jean-Claude let his normally blank facade fall as he stared as his guest. "You are mistaken."

"What? The black leather pants aren't very festive, I'll give you that, but the red top? It just screams Christmas cheer." Cordelia took in the incredulous master vampire before her. "And maybe some bells."

There was a snort from the darkened corner of Jean-Claude's office where Asher had retreated during the negotiations between the Master of St. Louis and the emissary from L.A.

"Mademoiselle, I will be not putting on a Santa hat," Jean-Claude snapped, leaning forward onto his desk and putting his hands flat. "Nor will I be wearing anything resembling a bell."

Cordelia gave him a look. The Look. "Then why wear that Christmas red shirt if you're not in the holiday spirit?"

"This shirt is not red."

The Look increased in intensity, accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

"It it maroon."

"Uh huh."

"The colour of human blood."

"The colour of Santa's hat. If you don't decorate up for this Winter Ball fundraiser thingy for the needy kids, when how will anyone know what a nice philanthropic vampire you are?"

Jean-Claude stood up. "Ms. Chase. I am Master of St. Louis, _sourde de sange_ of my people. There will be no Santa hat."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Mr. Party Pooper."

There was more hysterical laugher from the corner. Jean-Claude could only stare. No one had ever called him a party pooper.

Ever.

Cordelia picked up her briefcase and sighed theatrically. "We'll do business tomorrow. I'm sensing a bit of hostility from you."

Jean-Claude closed his eyes and counted to ten, hoping sincerely that when he opened his eyes, Ms. Chase would be gone.

He opened his eyes. No luck. Cordelia was still standing there.

"Go away," he tried, through clenched teeth.

Cordelia whirled and walked out of the office. "Bye, Asher," she called as she sailed through the door.

" _Au revoir_ ," Asher called. He emerged from his protective shadows still chuckling.

"Do not say it," Jean-Claude wanted, stalking across the office. The meeting had left him with the intense desire to strike something.

"Do not say what, _mon ami_? She was only trying to help," Asher replied.

Jean-Claude held up his hand. "Another word, Asher, and I will..."

"You will what?" Asher leaned his hip against the desk, posing carefully. He was laughing again.

Jean-Claude smiled, fangs flashing. "I'll make you escort Ms. Chase to this Winter Ball in my place.

Horrified, Asher stopped laughing.


	4. Over Candy Canes (Willow/Jarod (Pretender))

* * *

Willow glared up at the airport flight screen. The unfriendly word "CANCELLED" flashed across the monitor. Then Willow looked out the windows, at the blinding snowstorm, and frowned.

This was stupid. Snow was stupid. Delayed flights were stupid. Being all late to meet her mother's cousin over the holidays for the first time in a very many number of years was stupid.

"I wish..." she said under her breath, but stopped herself before she could go any further. They all knew the perils of wishing. Even if Anya was dead, D'Hoffren still occasionally popped in to tell Willow that if she wasn't doing anything, there was still vengeance as a career option.

No thank you siree. Or whatever one called a demon.

"What do you wish?"

Willow jumped up in her uncomfortable plastic airport chair and turned around, getting caught up in her carry-on bag strap while she did so. Some big scary witch she was, losing a fight with luggage.

The man who has spoken was sitting in the row of chairs behind her. Tall, dark hair, close-cropped, big brown eyes. He had an amused expression on his face, as if being caught in a snowstorm at an airport was a novel and fascinating experience.

Well, good for him.

"Why do you want to know?" Willow asked, beyond suspicious.

"No reason. You just sounded a bit sad," he said. Then he reached into a small bag at his side and pulled something out, which he then offered to Willow. "Candy cane?"

Willow frowned again. "I'm not supposed to take candy from strangers," she said, wincing as she heard the words come out of her mouth. Talk about cliché.

The man shrugged. "Your loss. These are quite fascinating. Do you know that it's the red stripe that gives it the sweeter taste? The mint is in the white part."

Okay, back to weird. The man sounded as if this was his first candy cane. Willow concentrated hard, to read his aura. Just to make sure she wasn't dealing with a serial killer, or one of D'Hoffran's lackeys.

His aura was strange. Willow had never seen such a confused aura. It was as if he didn't know who he was, instead pulling pieces of other people's lives around him.

But Willow could sense no malice from him. He also was human, no demony parts.

She must have stared at him for a minute too long, for he lowered the candy cane. "What did you just do?"

Something in his face had changed, the amusement flipped into wariness.

Willow knew he wasn't a sensitive, so there must have been some indication from her. _Great sneakiness, Rosenberg_ , she thought in disgust. "I read your aura," she said truthfully. "That's all."

"So you're a psychic?" he asked. There was no sarcasm in his voice, no derision over the thought of aura reading and the other touchy feely new-age stuff.

"Nope," Willow replied. "Just a witch."

Ah, now the eyebrows went up. "A witch?" he said, sounding intrigued and only a tiny bit sceptical. "As in flying on a broomstick witch?"

Willow shook her head. "No broomsticks for this girl," she said. She twisted her butt around in the chair to make herself a little less uncomfortable. "I tend to leave my flying to planes."

"And what did you see in my aura?" the man asked, leaning forward. He rolled the candy cane back and forth between his fingers.

"You're searching for yourself." Willow linked her fingers and rested her hands on the back of the chair. "You're pretending to be someone you're not in the meantime. But hey, who's not?"

The man shook his head at her words. "That's very perceptive of you." He looked down at the candy cane he had unconsciously mangled. "Very perceptive indeed."

"Are you flying home for the holidays?" Willow asked after an awkward silence. "I mean, because you're in the airport and all, with a bag none the less." She made herself stop rambling and forced a small smile onto her face. She so wasn't helping.

The man shook his head and smiled wryly. Such an expressive face. "No, I'm not. I have a new job that I'm headed to." He met Willow's eyes. "I'm Jarod."

"I'm Willow," she replied. "Hi."

"So, Willow, are you going to visit family for Christmas?" Jarod asked.

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

Willow picked up her bag and walked around the row of plastic chairs so she could sit facing Jarod, not twisting up into a little Willow-pretzel. "Yes to visiting family, no to Christmas. More for Hanukah."

"Ah, I see."

"But then again not really, because I'm Wiccan now," Willow continued. "But maybe yes, 'cause I think my cousin's Christian."

"So it's a Hanukah-Solstice visit on Christmas?" Jarod asked. "Do they make a greeting card for that?"

"I doubt it." Willow dug an envelope out of her bag. "So we made her one."

Jarod took the offered card. "Happy Hanukah and/or Christmas and/or Solstice and/or Yule and/or Saturday," he read. "Covering all your bases?"

"We did kind of get carried away," Willow admitted.

An announcement came over the speaker. "Will all passengers for flight 8743 to Nebraska please go to gate F-9 for pre-boarding."

Jarod handed Willow back the card and stood up. "That's my flight," he said.

"Well, good luck with your new job," Willow said. "What is your new job?"

Jarod turned back to her, a half-smile on his face. "Greeting-card maker," he said before he walked away.

Willow was left wondering who he thought he was fooling. "Maybe pretending to be a greeting card maker," she grumbled before stuffing the card back in her bag and settling down to glare at the flight screens once more.

It had been a weird encounter, no doubt. Maybe he really was evil. Either way, Willow thought, no wishing, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connected to the next chapter... read on


	5. Over Scotch (Willow/Amanda (Highlander))

* * *

The snow was lightly falling, the air was still, and the slightly unreal sound of Christmas bells rang in the night. Willow sighed, almost content. Two days until Christmas, and the people of Seacouver had pulled out all the stops. It was sweet.

Also in the "life is good" department, her mother's cousin was amazing. Amanda Darieaux was sort of like Buffy and Anya and Giles, all rolled into one. All the good parts, that was. No inappropriate remarks about making tea while slaying vampires, all in all.

Amanda had met her at the airport and had quickly gotten her to agree to a little last-minute holiday shopping. It seemed that Amanda herself had just flown in from Paris and needed to get "the guys" presents before the twenty-fifth. Not having anything else planned, Willow had agreed.

Four hours later and several bags heavier, Amanda had conceded to Willow's pleas for dinner and was leading them through the brightly-lit streets to a place owned by a friend of hers. "Actually, Joe's more Mac's friend, but his place makes great burgers," Amanda said.

"Who's Mac?" Willow asked, terribly curious about Amanda's friends.

"Oh, he's this big Scottish Boy Scout with a sense of honour that cannot be beat," Amanda breezed.

"And who else am I going to meet tonight?" Willow asked, following Amanda as she ducked down a darker side street.

"You'll meet Joe, the owner, and also possibly Adam, another friend of..." Amanda's voice trailed off. Willow looked at her cousin, worried. The dark-haired woman had switched all of her bags to her left hand and was anxiously scanning the dark street. "Not here, not now," she muttered under her breath.

"Amanda, what's going on?" Willow asked, alert. She strained her senses to the max without actually going into witchy mode. She didn't sense any evil.

Then someone stepped out from the shadows. "Amanda," he said. His voice was oily and way too smug.

"Eric," Amanda said through clenched teeth.

"Send your little friend away, we need to talk." As he moved, Willow caught a flash of light off metal in his hand.

A sword? Why the hell was he carrying a sword?

Willow looked back at her 'cousin', and suddenly everything fell into place. In England, where they went after Sunnydale fell into the ocean, Giles had sat her and Buffy down and told her all about the other branch of Watchers and their Immortals. About the swordfights. _I should have known she wasn't just 'well preserved'_ , Willow cursed herself.

Giles had also told them that no one was to interfere in the challenges under any circumstances.

Now Amanda was looking between Willow and this Eric punk, already balanced on the balls of her feet. "Do you want me to go?" Willow asked, voice low.

Amanda nodded. "I'll meet you at Joe's bar, you remember where it is?" she asked, eyes all for Eric now.

"Yup." Willow held out her hand. "Give me your bags."

Amanda handed them over, and Willow carefully made her way down the alley, skirting Eric. She knew how these challenges usually went. To the death.

Just before she rounded the corner, she cast an unnoticeable tracing spell on Eric's coat. She may not be able to interfere, now that Amanda had accepted the challenge, but that didn't mean that Willow wouldn't hunt Eric down if he beheaded the brunette.

Family is family, after all, even if they're not really family at all.

They must have waited until she was long gone, for Willow heard no clash of swords. She walked swiftly to the bar, finding it right where Amanda said it would be, all sparkly in its neon blue splendour.

She stormed through the door and made a beeline for an out-of-the-way where she could watch the door. Dropping her parcels on the floor, she slumped into a seat and waited.

A few minutes after she arrived, a man walked over with a menu in his hand. "Can I get you a drink?" he asked, balancing his cane against the table while he put the menu down and picked up the ashtray.

"No, I'm waiting for someone," Willow said. Then she changed her mind. "Yes, bring me a double scotch."

The man nodded. "One double scotch for the lady, coming right up." He left slowly.

Watching the door became boring very quickly. Willow started to look around, eyes darting around the room. The man who had given her the menu was back behind the bar, talking to two dark-haired men. One was lining up quite a pile of empty beer glasses, while the other was nursing a drink. _No one should be having fun_ , Willow thought darkly.

Another waiter brought her drink, and she let it sit there untouched. She would wait for an hour, she decided, then she would knock back the drink and go find Eric. She didn't know what she was going to do to him, if he killed her cousin. Maybe she'd knock him out and teleport him to Buffy, let her beat him up.

No, she couldn't do that, Willow realized. She swallowed hard. She had known Amanda for a very long time. She may not have seen her cousin since she was just a little girl, but they had exchanged letters and such. Then Amanda invited her out for the holidays. It was a nice gesture for a girl who didn't even know where her parents were this year. She suspected Los Angeles, but didn't know. And at this point, she didn't care.

Maybe call the cops? Tell them she saw Amanda getting in a fight with the guy and then lead them to her decapitated body? Giles told her most Immortals kept their swords for centuries. With modern science, they could probably match the sword in Eric's possession to the one that took Amanda's head. He'd go to jail. Or maybe one of the other Immortals would get him before that.

All of Willow's frantic planning came to a screeching halt when the door swung open and Amanda slipped inside.

Willow sighed in relief. Then her relief quickly faded into another emotion altogether.

Anger.

The scotch drinker from the bar intercepted Amanda halfway across the bar. She shook her head at him and touched his arm, then stepped around him and continued on her way to Willow.

Amanda sat in the chair opposite Willow and smiled weakly. "Sorry about that, an old friend who--"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Willow demanded.

Amanda's smile faltered. "Tell you what?"

Willow closed her eyes for a second, then reached out and picked up the glass. She took a sip of the scotch, wincing at its scotchy taste. "Tell me that you're an Immortal?" Willow said quietly.

Amanda stared at her in shock. "How do you-- I mean, when did you--"

Willow took another sip of scotch and felt her anger fading away. She was back to being plain old confused Willow. Trust that nothing in her life would be normal. "Have you every heard of a group called the Watchers?"

Amanda fell back in her chair. Then she sat back up and grabbed both of Willow's wrists, turning them over.

"No, not that kind of Watcher," Willow said, slowly drawing her hands back. "How about the Slayer?"

"You mean the bogeyman of vampire kind?" Amanda said, leaning in close. "Yeah, I've heard the stories. But how do you factor into that?"

Willow took one last sip from the glass and pushed it away. "So, the story goes, into every generation, there is a Slayer..."

* * *

"And so now you're working as a Watcher?" Amanda asked, an hour later.

Willow dipped her last fry into ketchup and popped it into her mouth. "No, I'm doing research for Slayers," Willow clarified. "And working as their witch." She had told Amanda the whole seven-year saga, starting with Buffy showing up one day in English class and ending with the implosion of Sunnydale. A few details had been left out, the more painful ones, but Amanda either didn't notice or was too tactful to mention it.

"Very strange." Amanda sipped at her wine.

"So, now that you've heard my story, I don't think we've been properly introduced." Willow wiped her French fry fingers on her napkin and held her hand out to Amanda. "Willow Rosenberg, witch."

Amanda took her hand and gave it a firm shake. "Amanda, 1200-year-old Immortal and the best thief who ever lived."

"Very nice to meet you," Willow said. She withdrew her hand. "So how exactly did I come to be calling you cousin Amanda all those years ago?"

"It's quite simple, really," Amanda said. "Your great-grandfather saved my life."

"He did?" Willow asked, astounded. "How?"

Amanda smiled and stared into her wine glass. "It was Russia, 1905 or something. The Tsar's men had chased me across the countryside until I came to a small mill on the outskirts of a city. Your grandfather Ezra hid me in part of the mill for days, until the Tsar's men moved on. I came back a decade later and helped him and his wife and children emigrate to America. I drop by every so often."

"Cool," Willow said. "What were the Tsar's men chasing you for?"

Amanda smiled wickedly. "I liberated some of his mistress's jewels."

"Well, I won't tell anyone if you don't," Willow said with a wink.

They both giggled, then sank into a contemplative silence. "Willow, I still want you to consider me family, if you can. We're not blood, but..."

"Family isn't blood from birth, it's blood spilled together," Willow said. She thought about all of her real family. Buffy, Xander, Giles, Dawn, Kennedy.

Tara.

Amanda leaned forward. "So are you going to give me a chance?" she asked quietly. Willow knew she was trying to hide it, but she seemed so fragile. The red-headed witch wondered how many loved ones she had lost over twelve centuries.

"You've got yourself a deal," Willow said.

Amanda brightened immediately. "This calls for a celebration!" she exclaimed. "What kind of wine do you like?"

"I'm sort of a wine dunce," Willow said.

Amanda grinned wickedly again. "Oh goody, a challenge. One Christmas Hanukah wine coming up." She got out of her chair and almost danced over to the bar.

Willow tossed her napkin onto her plate, grinning. A 1200-year-old cousin and sneak thief. Buffy was going to love this one.


	6. Over Coffee (Xander/Merry Gentry)

* * *

"What can I get for you?"

Xander winced at the brightness of the barista's smile. Only in L.A. would a coffee jockey have such white teeth. "One large coffee and a... one of those icy drinks."

The smile didn't dim a watt. "Would you like a mocha frappuccino, a coffee frappuccino, a double chocolate-chip brownie frappuccino or our Christmas caramel eggnog frappuccino?"

"Uh..."

"Is it for you?" someone behind Xander asked. He turned around to see the young woman behind him in line smirking a little.

"No. It's for a friend," Xander said. "She's about yay tall, fifteen, can't sing."

The woman's smirk melted into a smile. "Try the brownie one. They have twice the daily allowable intake of sugar."

Xander smiled, relieved, as he turned back to the barista. "Brownie. Large."

"Thank you, please wait over there while one of our partners makes your iced drink, and have a happy holiday." The barista smiled vacantly at Xander as he paid.

Wondering if they made demons who worked in coffee shops, Xander edged around the counter until he was out of the way. It was all Buffy's fault he was in L.A., he mused. Dawn had to spend a week at Hank Summer's place as part of the child support deal, and Buffy couldn't get away from the Hellmouth, which in true Hellmouthy fashion was being tricky. Xander being the only free Scooby, he had driven Dawn to L.A.

Of course, Hank Summers being the slime ball he was, he was working so much it had basically been a Xander and Dawn week, with a large sprinkling of Angel thrown in. Xander had ducked into the coffee shop for a pick-me-up while Dawn was shopping down the street at one of a myriad of clothing stores aimed at stick-thin teenagers with more money than fashion sense.

All of these thoughts passed through Xander's head while he waited. There was a long line of people milling around the counter, and Xander settled in for the long haul.

"You think they play this music to make us all long for snow, or just to drive as many people away as possible?"

It was the young woman from the line, talking to him. Xander stared for a moment, before he realized he was acting like a goofball.

"Actually, I heard a theory that they put subliminal messages in the carols so you'll become a mindless automaton and you'll buy anything," Xander said, trying to sound all glib and mature.

"Anything?" the woman asked as she poured a liberal amount of sugar into her tea.

"What else could explain the continual success of the Swiffer?"

The stupid comment elicited the reaction Xander had hoped for. The woman giggled, then fought to wipe the smile from her face.

"You're not a fan of Christmas?" the woman asked when she regained control of herself.

"No, I'm Xander," he replied.

The woman looked steadily at him, and Xander looked back. She was short, but Xander liked short. Her hair was a deep rich red with black highlights in it, her eyes brown, her skin pale, but Xander couldn't help but think that she was hiding herself. Somehow.

"I'm Merry," the woman said, and held out her hand.

Xander took her hand in his, and marvelled at how firm her handshake was. "Come here often?"

"Only when I'm working," Merry said. "How about you?"

"I'm waiting for a friend," Xander replied.

"Miss Yay-Tall?"

"That's the one." Xander glanced at the crowd at the coffee bar. It had thinned by a few people, but not enough.

The Christmas carol playing over the loudspeakers changed to yet another rendition of Silver Bells. Xander winced.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you are not a fan of Christmas," Merry said, noting his reaction.

"No." Xander remembered the last Christmas at his house. His dad had gotten drunk, again, and hit his mother across the face. Again. His mother had been too drunk to notice much.

Marry was looking at him as if she could read his thoughts. It was a very disconcerting look. "I'm sorry."

Somehow, Xander knew she meant it. "Thank you."

Merry smiled, wistfully. "I used to like Christmas. Me and Gran and my father. We weren't Christian, but it's just another holiday taken over by the church anyway. We always had a big tree and lots of presents and food. And there was always so much snow." Her voice trailed off.

"But not this year?"

Merry shook her head. "No. My father's dead and, well, I can't go home."

Xander wondered what it was like, to miss your family like that. "Do you have any other plans this year?"

Merry fished the teabag out of her cup and tossed it into the garbage can, then slipped a plastic lid on the cup. "A friend's going to make the holiday meal. Maybe some Christmas movies. Those things always get me all teary."

"I recommend the Charlie Brown Christmas Special," Xander said.

"Oh really?" Merry said, laughter in her voice. "Any particular reason?"

"The Snoopy dance. It's the feel-good medicine for any season."

"I'll take that into consideration," Merry said. "What are you doing for the holiday season?"

"Some nogg, some grogg. Maybe even a present or two. Speaking of which," Xander said, something suddenly occurring him, "You're a woman."

She gave him a look. "And have been for some time now."

"What do women want for Christmas?"

She appeared to consider it. "Girlfriend, sister or friend?"

"Friend. The girlfriend's already got her list, and my bank account has guaranteed she's not going to be happy with me."

"What does your friend do?" Merry took a sip from her tea, her eyes never leaving Xander's face. It was strange, to have a total stranger's complete attention like this.

"She... she helps people."

"Hmm. A helping-people person. Probably not a coffee girl."

"Pardon?"

"Not an edible gift, or something you can drink. Does she like books?"

"We've got enough books back at the house to choke the Trojan horse. If it was a horse and not a big wooden decoy."

"What do you want your friend to take away from your gift?"

Xander started to say something glib, then stopped. He looked at Meredith, then movement outside the store, though the glass, caught his attention.

It was Dawn, peeking in the window, bags in her hands. She caught sight of Xander and grinned that wide Dawn-smile.

"I want her to remember what she's fighting for," Xander said softly, watching Dawn as the teenager came through the doors of the coffee shop.

"Xander, got my drink yet?" Dawn asked as she swung up beside the pair.

Xander started to say no, but then the guy behind the bar called out, "Double chocolate-chip brownie frappuccino with whipped cream!"

"That's you," Xander said. Dawn dropped the shopping bags at Xander's feet and bounced over to the bar.

"I take it you know what you're going to get your friend for Christmas?" Merry asked.

Xander stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Yep, thanks to you."

"I do what I can," Merry replied.

Dawn was suddenly at Xander's elbow. "They gave me your coffee too, and I don't want it."

"Thanks. Dawn, this is Merry."

"Hi." Dawn took a long pull on the straw on her drink.

"Hello, and good-bye," Merry said. "I hope you have a happy Christmas."

"Thanks. You too." Xander almost turned away, but he needed to say one more thing. "I hope you make it home, one day."

Merry gave Xander a wistful smile. "Me too." She turned and walked out of the coffee shop into the bustle of the L.A. December day.

"Who was that?" Dawn asked.

"Random stranger," Xander replied, still looking at the coffee shop door.

"Uh huh." The disbelief in Dawn's voice was almost tangible. "What were you talking about?"

Xander picked up a few of Dawn's shopping bags and started heading for the door. "Buffy's Christmas present. Say, do you guys still have all those loose photographs at home?"

"I think so. Why?"

"I think it's time I took up the manly art of scrap booking."

"Xander, are you sure you're okay?"

Xander picked up Dawn and swung her around. Amidst her shrieks, Xander said, "It's almost Christmas, Dawn, where's your holiday spirit?"

"If you don't put me down, I'm going to throw up!"

Xander dumped Dawn back on her feet. "Spoilsport."

Dawn pushed the hair out of her face and glared at Xander. "You're weird," she declared, and stalked away. Xander followed her, grinning. Thanks to a random encounter with a gorgeous stranger on the streets of L.A., he had the perfect idea to make a scrapbook with all her family and friends' photos for Buffy for Christmas and he would be spending said holiday with his friends. What could be more perfect than that?


	7. Over Cookies (Dawn/Micah (Anita Blake))

* * *

"So."

"So." Dawn hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans and looked at the wereleopard standing across the room from her.

Wereleopard. And she had thought Oz was weird. St. Louis was a very strange place.

"What do you want to do while we wait for Anita and your sister to get back?" Micah asked.

Dawn shrugged. "I don't know. Buffy usually takes a while when killing a Kralak demon. You got to go hunting for the tentacles."

Micah made a face. "That's disgusting."

"Don't I know it. Isn't there anything you'd rather do than baby-sit the Slayer's fifteen-year-old sister while she's off making with the holiday Slayage with your girlfriend?" Dawn raised an eyebrow, or at least tried.

Micah shook his head. "Not really. We were planning a movie night."

"Oh." Dawn looked around hopefully. "What kinds of movies?"

"Anita likes Disney." There was a smile playing around the edges of Micah's mouth.

"Disney?" Dawn's teenaged heart was appalled. "The scariest person this side of the Mississippi likes singing cartoon animals?"

"Yup." Another awkward silence fell over the room. "Want to help me decorate the Christmas tree?"

"Sure," Dawn said, relieved. Anything to avoid Disney.

* * *

"More to the left. No, your other left."

Dawn obligingly moved, leaning precariously on the step-ladder. Because she was three inches taller than Micah, she got stuck with positioning the angel on the top of the tree.

"How's that?" she asked, up on tip-toe.

Micah considered. And considered.

"Any day now," Dawn said. She was getting wobbly.

"Yes, that's just perfect."

Carefully, Dawn let go of the angel and righted herself. Micah came forward and handed Dawn a box. "While you're up there, you may as well put these on the branches," he said.

Dawn peered into the box. There were several little nutcrackers, and a few smiling cherubs. "Are these new? There are some tags on them."

Micah nodded as he carefully hung a glass icicle on the tree. "I think Nathaniel got them in town yesterday when he got the tree."

If Dawn recalled correctly, Nathaniel was the nice guy with the hair, who Buffy had steered her away from earlier. Just because he was a stripper or something. "Is he really attached to them?"

Micah stepped back from the tree to look at their efforts so far. "I don't think so. Why?"

Dawn had an idea. A deliciously awful idea. "Anita's dating a vampire, right?" She waited until Micah nodded. "How's her sense of humor around the holidays?"

Micah cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"We're going to need some paint and a really tiny brush."

* * *

Anita groaned as she put her key in the front door lock. "You do this all the time?" she asked Buffy.

"Yeah, but they're not usually so perky," the younger blonde Slayer said. "Hey, that necromancy magic thing was really cool. Watching that tall one just blow up was cool."

"It made sense at the time, but now I'm not so sure it was a good idea." Anita pushed the door open. "Jean-Claude's going to be all, ' _ma petite_ , what...'" Anita's voice trailed off as she and Buffy walked into the living room.

Micah and Dawn were on the carpet, putting together a puzzle on the coffee table. Christmas carols were playing in the background, and the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the house.

"'... have you done?'" Anita finished weakly, staring at the scene of Christmas harmony before her.

"Was this place like this before?" Buffy said, coming up beside the gaping Executioner.

"No." Anita seemed at a total loss for words.

"Hey Buffy, Ms. Blake," Dawn said calmly, looking up from the puzzle. "Want some cookies?"

"Dawn had this idea to add little butterscotch chips to the recipe," Micah added, holding the plate out to Anita.

Who just stood staring at him.

Dawn slipped the last piece of the puzzle into place. "Cool. Kittens in a basket."

Anita slowly stepped into the room. "When did we get all this stuff?" she asked.

Micah leaned back against the couch. "Nathaniel and Cherry went shopping."

"I take it from the amount of gore that you two got the Kralak demon guy?" Dawn interjected.

Buffy smiled. "Yup, and since this sweater is now ruined, you now know what to buy me for Christmas. Come one, time to get back to the hotel."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Yes, lieutenant," she grumbled as she pulled herself to her feet.

"That's lieutenant-colonel to you, missy." Buffy looked past Dawn to Micah. "Thanks for letting her hang out here."

Micah smiled, all wide and disarming. "It was fun. I'd never have gotten the tree done by myself."

"And it was nice to be able to decorate a tree of some sort this Christmas," Dawn said pointedly.

"Thank you, Miss Innuendo," Buffy said. "Come on. In the car."

Dawn went and picked up her jacket from the couch. "Bye Micah. Bye, Ms. Blake."

Buffy headed toward the front door, Dawn in tow. The last thing they heard before they left was Anita's voice, saying, "Micah, why are there vampire nutcrackers on my tree?"


	8. Over and Done (Angel/Anita Blake)

* * *

"So let me get this straight."

Angel crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the Executioner, sitting not ten feet away from him. He had been waiting to see the Master of St. Louis for three hours, but something about Council business over the Yule was keeping said Master busy. So the Master's servant, Anita Blake, the scourge of vampire kind in the Midwest, had been sent to keep an eye on him.

They had gotten bored, really bored, and started swapping stories. She had confided in him that she had over one hundred kills, and he in turn had told her the whole sordid sage of Darla's resurrection and Conner's birth.

"So Darla sired you, then you sired Drucilla. Then hundreds of years later, Darla gets staked. Am I right so far?"

"Yes," Angel said through clenched teeth. The dark-haired woman was dressed in black clothing that unconsciously showed off her every curve and the very big gun at her arm. Now, her lips were curled up into a wicked smile. Nothing good could come of this. She reminded him way too much of Faith for comfort.

"Then those evil lawyers bring back Darla, and Drucilla later makes her a vampire."

"Yes. Do you have a point?"

Anita started giggling. "So what you're telling me is that you're your own Grandpa?"

Angel closed his eyes in pain. Anita laughed.


	9. Over Books (Tara/Frost (Merry Gentry))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Set just after _Hush_.

* * *

Tara walked slowly along the L.A. street, arms full of magic books. Her trip over the Christmas break to the city had been wonderful, especially after that scary thing with the voices and the creepy floating men in Sunnydale the previous week.

Tara found her thoughts straying back to Willow. She could still remember the tingle of magic that filled her whole body, when she and Willow joined hands and moved that pop machine in the laundry room. It was magic.

Willow was magic.

A noise made Tara glance up. She looked around. She didn't know where she was. She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere on her way back to her hotel.

She swallowed hard. Okay, don't panic, she told herself. Just go back the way you came and you'll find the right way.

She turned around and almost screamed. Right behind her were two vampires in full game face. Oh yes, they were vampires. She had seen one in Sunnydale, that once, and now there were two.

"What have we here?" one of the vampires asked, looking her over. "Are we lost?"

"N-no," Tara stammered, clutching her books closer to her chest.

The vampire opened his mouth, to say something else, but then from out of nowhere came the blade of a sword and sliced through the vampire's neck. The body hadn't even crumbled to dust before the other vampire was also decapitated.

Tara gulped. The sword was being held by a man, but to call him a man seemed wrong. He was ever-so-tall, silver hair pulled back into a ponytail, grey stormy eyes.

Tara had seen pictures of the fey. After all, she grew up near Cahokia, Illinois, where the Unseelie court made its home. That's what this man had to be.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice as cold as the winter wind.

Tara shook her head, her hair falling in her eyes. "No, I'm f-fine. Thank you for saving me."

He nodded and put his sword back into his jacket. "A young woman shouldn't be out on a night such as this, in this town." His tone made it very clear exactly what he thought of L.A.

Tara understood. She'd grown up in the country, and even Sunnydale had taken a bit to get used to, with its buildings and concrete. L.A. was even worse.

He moved as if he was going to leave, but he hesitated. "Would you care for an escort back to your home?" he asked stiffly.

Tara made herself not smile at his manner. He was so formal. She wondered if he was part of the Unseelie Queen's guard. But... of course. She had read how the Unseelie Princess, Meredith, was in L.A. He must be one of her guards.

"I'm staying at a hotel," Tara said.

"Then to your hotel."

Tara nodded, and gingerly stepped around the piles of vampire dust.

They walked slowly down the streets. Everyone ignored them. It was okay.

"What's your name?" Tara asked in a rush, before she lost her nerve.

"I am Frost," he said. "And what may I call you?"

"I'm T-tara," she stammered.

"Those are books on the magics?" Frost asked.

"Yes." Tara wondered if he could sense her demon part, the one every woman in her family had. But if what she had heard of the Unseelie court was true, he might not mind.

"Have you tried the shop by the waterfront?" Frost asked. "They have similar books there."

"I was there yesterday," Tara said. "Some good stuff, even if overpriced."

"I see."

Frost was silent for the rest of the trip to the hotel, which suited Tara just fine. When they made it to the front door, Frost turned to her. "Here you are," he said.

"Thank you, for saving my life and for walking me back," Tara said shyly. "Can I ask you a question?"

Frost stood ramrod straight, his face blank. She wondered what he thought she was going to ask. "You may."

"Do you miss it?" she asked. "Home, in the winter, with the cold and the snow and ice?"

He relaxed slightly. "More than anyone will ever know," he said softly. He nodded his head. "Good evening, Tara."

"Bye," she said as he walked away.

Even through she would never, ever go home, there were times when she too missed the cold and the ice.


	10. Over-Bite (Darla/Clark Kent (Smallville))

* * *

Clark looked around the busy Metropolis street, craning for any sign of his parents. This was his first trip to Metropolis over Christmas, and he had been eager to convince Mom and Dad that he was a big boy. After all, he was already nine.

But he had been so busy looking at the train set in the department store window that he hadn't noticed where they went. He tried to swallow his panic. He'd just stay put, and hope they noticed that he was...

"Are you lost?"

Clark looked up. There was a nice looking blonde woman, gazing down at him with a friendly smile. Hesitantly, Clark nodded. "I think I lost my Mom and Dad," he said.

The woman smiled wider. "Well, why don't we go look for them?" She offered him her hand. "I'm Darla."

"Hello, Darla," Clark said as he slipped his dirty hand into hers. He tried to remember his manners. "How do you do?"

"I'm quite well, thank you for asking." Darla guided Clark down the street.

"Where are we going?" Clark asked, frowning. The brightly lit storefronts were rapidly changing into shuttered shops. "Where are my parents?"

"They're just down here," Darla said, her grip firm on his wrist.

Clark started to struggle. "I think I want to go back to the store," he said. He was trying really hard not use his strength, like Mom and Dad warned him about, but he wanted to get away. This lady was making him  scared.

Darla dragged him into a darkened doorway and pulled his head back. "Just be still, little boy," Darla hissed. There was something wrong with her face, all wrinkly, and her teeth were suddenly all pointy.

Clark was too surprised to do anything, until Darla bit him, or at least tried to. Her teeth just bounced off his skin.

She flung him away from her so that he hit the wall. "What are you?" she hissed.

Clark picked himself up off the ground. It hadn't hurt, not any of it, but he was so scared. The lady had tried to bite him!

He turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could, a little blur of speed, for a few blocks. When he saw people again, he slowed down and ran at the 'normal' speed his Dad had taken such pains to teach him. He ran all the way back to the department store with the trains in the window.

There were his Mom and Dad, looking around. He made a beeline for them, and almost knocked Mom over as he wrapped his arms around her waist in a hug.

"Clark, where have you been?" Dad demanded, pulling him around and looking him over. "Are you okay, son?"

Clark nodded. "I'm fine, Dad." He sniffled. "I'm okay."


	11. Over Swings (Conner/Merry Gentry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Before the beginning of the MG series. Set early to mid-season four for AtS. Just another day in L.A.

* * *

Merry Gentry rubbed her arms against the coolness of the evening. _This is what I get for agreeing to go on surveillance in January,_ she thought glumly. Sighing, she adjusted her cell phone in her pocket so it wouldn't dig into her hip, then leaned back on the pier railing.

Her boss, Jeremy Grey, had taken a new case for the Grey Detective Agency the previous day. The case she had been working on fell through, which meant that she was free to help Jeremy out. At the time, a night-long surveillance sounded like fun; a chance to get out of the office, out of the metal buildings that surrounded her like cages in L.A.

Not that the metal affected her. She was more than half sidhe, with sprinklings of brownie and human thrown in for good measure. The metal and glass didn't affect her magic, nor would she wither and die so far away from faerie.

But that didn't mean she didn't long for home.

She sighed. The target of her surveillance had moved from the dock into his boat, and as she watched, he pulled the boat off its moorings and drove off to sea.

 _Drove?_ she wondered. _Do you drive a boat? Or do you float a boat?_ As the boat rounded the marina, Merry pulled out her cell phone.

Jeremy picked up on the third ring. "Yes?"

"It's me," Merry said. "He's in the boat, headed for sea."

Jeremy exhaled softly. "All right, I'll have Ringo waiting at the pier in Santa Monica, see if he shows up. Thanks, Merry."

She shrugged. "No problem. Being outside in the chill does wonders for my skin."

Jeremy's chuckle on the other end of the line was almost flirtatious. "No one would ever have been able to tell."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jeremy," Merry said. He was still chuckling when she hung up the phone and put it into her jacket pocket.

Slowly, Merry walked back along the pier to the seawall. She'd parked her car in a parking lot a ways down the walkway. There were a few joggers out, even in the dim light after sunset. Merry had tweaked her glamour before coming out, to make her less noticeable. It served the dual purposes of making her hard to see by her target, and of less interest to anyone who would want to pester a short, pretty young woman on an L.A. beach after dark.

Merry was nearing a playground when she realized that not everything was right with the world. There, on the edge of her awareness, something quivered.

Her first urge was to run. Run away, run fast, run to hide. She squelched that down hard and fast. Her father had taught her better than that. Discover your enemy, then decide whether to run or to stand and fight.

If it was another sidhe, she'd run as long as she was able. But none of her aunt's people knew she was in L.A., she told herself.

 _There are other dangerous things in the world._ The question was, which of those followed her in the dark?

Always pick the ground for your fight, her father had told her. Fight on your terms. With that in mind, Merry slowed, then stepped off the path. She walked through the playground, stopping at the swing set. She wrapped her hand around one of the cool metal poles, and walked around it lazily, as if she was lost in thought.

She didn't have long to wait. Out of the shadows came a man, tall, lanky. He smiled when he saw Merry standing there, his gaze pure predator.

 _Which flavour of creep have we got tonight?_ Merry wondered. She also wondered why her glamour wasn't working. If he was as human as he looked, he shouldn't have given her a second look.

"Are you all alone?" the guy asked softly.

Merry didn't answer. Even though she had no special sidhe powers, part of the reason she'd fled from the Unseelie court, she was still stronger than a human.

The guy stepped closer. Merry let go of the pole and walked around, keeping the swing set between them.

"Poor, little, lost lamb," he said.

The feeling of wrongness intensified, until Merry finally recognized its source. _Vampire_.

Her father had told her about vampires. His friend and adviser, Barinthus, had taken her out to the streets of nearby St. Louis, to observe a vampire, only from a safe distance. Intellectually, she knew how to kill one.

But that summer night in St. Louis seemed impossibly far away as she tried desperately to think of what to do with the vampire in front of her.

"Will you squeal, like a lamb taken to slaughter?" the vampire continued.

Somewhere, deep in Merry's chest, her sidhe pride was struck. _I may be far from home, but I'm a sidhe princess,_ she thought, seething. _I will not die squealing, and I will certainly not die without a fight_.

The vampire attacked.

* * *

 

In an effort to avoid dealing with his father, Conner was out trolling the streets of L.A. Okay, so he'd been trolling since noon and he wasn't so much on the streets of L.A. as the beaches. But he supposed even evil enjoyed the occasional beach walk.

The sun was gone, now. Conner's senses were full of the night, the darkness making things seem crisper. The daylight in this dimension was too bright, too full of colour, for Conner to see all that he was used to.

Only at night were things as they should be.

He passed the entrance to the marina. _Wonder if there are any water demons around?_ He slowed down and thought about it. But no. His father had told him about water demons... No. Not his father. Holtz.

Conner squared his shoulders. He would not cry. He would not let his emotions out, not about the man who kidnapped him, and not about the vampire who was his father. There was a time and place for emotions, and that was after you were dead.

A hint of a sound on the wind caught his attention. It sounded like a fight.

Just what Conner was looking for. He ran.

* * *

Merry ducked another punch, with moves faster than any human. Unfortunately, the vampire was as fast as she was.

The next kick connected with the side of her head and she slammed into the ground. She'd been getting pounded around by sidhe at the Unseelie court for years. It didn't slow her down any more.

"You're not quite human, are you?" the vampire sneered. "I bet you'll taste like candy."

Merry spat out a mouthful of blood. "You'll never get to find out."

The vampire took another covetous look at her, then lunged forward.

Merry rolled onto her back, legs up, to catch the vampire's weight, but then it became unnecessary. From somewhere off to the side, something tackled the vampire.

The vampire and the new attacker rolled in the dirt, slamming into the bottom of the slide. The vampire howled as its head was slammed into the slide.

Merry scrambled to her feet, keeping her eyes on the fight.

The attacker yanked out a wooden stake and pulled back for the blow. _Where did he pull that out of, his ass?_ Merry thought as she circled around.

The vampire took advantage of the guy's move to knee him in the crotch. The guy doubled up in pain and tumbled off the vampire, letting go of his stake in the meantime.

The vampire rolled to the side and to his feet. He stalked over to the guy... a kid, really, and kicked him a few times in the face. "Don't you know you need to wait your turn?" the vampire said, punctuating each word with a kick.

Merry picked up the stake and held it fast in her hand. All she had to do was drive the stake through the vampire's ribs into its heart. Right.

The kid on the ground grabbed the vampire's foot on the next kick, and twisted hard. The vampire pulled away and stumbled backward.

 _Now or never_. Merry stepped into it, swinging the stake with all of her sidhe strength.

She felt the impact up her arm, as the sharp wood went through cloth, skin, ribs, right into the heart. She let go of the stake as the vampire exploded into dust.

As the kid scrambled to his feet, Merry backed away, her hands up, ready to fight.

"Are you okay?" the kid asked, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

"Are you insane?" Merry snapped. "You could have gotten both of us killed."

The kid stared at her. "Me? You were on your way to death before I came along!"

"I didn't need rescuing!" Merry yelled. "That old story about the guy riding in on his white charger to save the princess, it's just lies." She clamped her mouth shut, afraid she'd said too much.

"Hey, I was only trying to help," the guy said, his young face drawing into a scowl.

"Well, next time, wait until someone asks, okay?" Merry wiped blood off her mouth with the back of her hand. "Do you have a death wish or something? You could have gotten hurt."

"I know how to fight a damned vampire," the kid said.

Merry shook her head. Now that the adrenaline was going away, her body was beginning to ache. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to work tomorrow." She turned and started walking in the general direction of her car. _I will not limp, I will not limp,_ she mentally recited.

After a moment, Merry heard footsteps behind her. "It's not safe out here," the kid called.

"I figured that part out already," Merry retorted.

He continued to trail her. "You shouldn't be out alone."

"Why not? You are."

"Because you're short, and you're a gi--"

Merry whirled. "If the phrase 'you're a girl' comes out of your mouth, I will not be held responsible for my actions," she hissed.

The kid raised his eyebrows. "Gizmo?" he offered.

Merry smiled coldly. "Goodbye." She started walking.

This time, the kid kept up with her. "Are you going home?"

"Stop stalking me."

"I'm not stalking, this is helping."

"From here, it looks like stalking."

"Hey, it's okay. I work with a detective agency."

"You're what, sixteen? You do not work at a detective agency."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too.


	12. Over the End (Jenny Calendar/Sam Beckett (Quantum Leap))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Set during the Buffy episode "Promises" in second season.

* * *

Sam blinked a couple of times as the room came into focus after the leap. He looked around. He was in a darkened classroom with computers on every desk. In front of him was a old-fashioned computer.

Al walked through a wall, cigar in hand. He looked very unhappy.

Sam took a quick glance around, to make sure the room was empty, then said to Al, "Does Ziggy know what's happening?"

Al nodded. Sam got up, smoothing his skirt down, and walked to the window to get a glimpse at his reflection. Young, female, pretty. Tired.

"Sam, you don't have much time," Al said heavily.

"Time for what?" Sam asked, turning back around.

"You need to finish the computer program, and put it onto a disk, then drop the disk between the desk and the filing cabinet," Al continued.

"Al, what's going on?" Sam asked as he sat back at the desk. The bar on the bottom of the screen was slowly moving, indicating that the program was working.

Al threw his cigar away violently. "You finish the program and you print off a copy. Then the woman, Jenny, she's attacked by some guy named Angel and killed."

"So I'm here to stop her dying?" Sam asked, mind racing to what form of self-defence he could use to protect the woman he jumped into.

"No." Al looked square at Sam. "That's not why you're here."

"What?" Sam exclaimed. The bar at the bottom of the screen finished, and the text began to change. Automatically, he hit the print function, then typed furiously on the keyboard to save the program to a disk.

"You need to let Jenny die," Al said.

"Al, I can save her!" Sam said. He pulled out the disk of the computer and slipped it between the desk and the filing cabinet, out of sight.

"You're not supposed to."

No. This wasn't right. He was supposed to help people, save people. How could letting a woman die be part of his plan?

The print-out finished, and Sam rolled his chair over to the printer, picking up the paper. He sensed movement at the back of the class, and he whipped his head around.

There was a man standing at the back of the classroom, shrouded in shadows. Sam jumped out of his chair.

"Angel," he said slowly.

The man smiled, and there was death in his face.


	13. Over Flame (Buffy/Rafael (Anita Blake))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into the opening chapter for an unfinished fic, [Candlelight (BtVS/AB)](http://www.tthfanfic.org/Story-6409/Mhalachai+Candlelight.htm).

* * *

Buffy lit a taper and used it to light candle after candle at the alter.

One for Mom. One for Tara. One for Anya. One for Kendra. One for all of the other Slayers, dead in their graves.

She hesitated, then lit two more candles. One for Angel and one for Spike. God wouldn't mind. God didn't hate.

The melting wax from the taper slid down, onto her fingers. It hurt, but then, everything always hurt. She didn't let anyone know, but what she had said to Spike, that day behind the Magic Box, was still true. Too bright, too loud, too hard. All pain.

She blew out the taper and watched the smoke curl up into the air, up to heaven. The taper went back on the ledge.

Buffy turned, slowly, because she didn't want to leave here. Maybe it was only a placebo, but she felt calmer here than she had since... Since.

There was someone watching her. Midnight in the church, only the candles moving, and there was someone watching her from the third pew.

He felt strange, not human, but not evil. Buffy could have walked past him and out into the night, but she wanted to stay in this place.

The longer she stared at him, in the oppressive silence, the more unreal he seemed. Even sitting, Buffy could see he was tall. Black hair, tanned skin, eyes deep as pools.

Then his lips parted and his tongue slid over his lips. The sheen of the moisture was startlingly bright in the candlelight.

In a heartbeat, Buffy lived a life with that man. Ate breakfast with him, made love to him, had children with him, paid bills with him, grew old with him.

Then time stepped forward, and they were back in the church at midnight, alone but for the burning lights.

She should leave, go back to her hotel room and wait, to go pick up Dawn in the morning, take her to wherever home was.

But instead, she walked slowly up the aisle and sat in the pew beside that man.

He watched her silently, as she sat down and pulled her coat tighter. The look he gave her was too intimate, too familiar. So she gave him the only response she could. She smiled.

They both watched the candles burn for a while. It was easy to pretend, in the stillness, that the flame would go on forever.

"Why did you light so many candles?" His voice wasn't anything she was expecting, but it felt right, as if she had waited for years to hear that voice.

"For the people I've lost." Buffy's eyes slid past the cross on the alter and went to the nativity scene, already displayed at the side of the church. Never too early to think about love, she supposed.

She had felt loved, once. She had been finished. No longer.

"My condolences," he said.

"You didn't know them," Buffy replied, softly. "Sometimes I wonder if I remember them at all. If I forget them, will they exist any more?"

"What do you think?"

"I think they do." Buffy sighed and rotated her neck. "They have to. Otherwise, I have to live forever so someone remembers."

The man was silent for a long time. Candles guttered and died.

"I think that you mean that."

"Of course I do," Buffy said.

"Who are you?" he asked, turning to look at her. She was suddenly aware how close they were sitting, only a hair's width between their bodies. She could feel the heat from his body like candy on her tongue.

"I'm Buffy," she said, because it was the only answer she had. It felt like a lie, but there was no one to tattle on her.

"Why are you so sad?"

Buffy reached up and traced her fingers along his cheekbone, down to his chin, then across his soft lips. He shuddered under her touch. "I think I forgot how not to be."

He moved suddenly, caught her hand in both of his and firmly kissed her fingertips. Then he moved her hand lower, until it was pressed against his chest. Through the fabric of his shirt, Buffy could feel his heartbeat, firm and steady.

"Does it feel strange?" she asked, caught up in his eyes and what she saw there.

"What?"

"Living." Buffy slid her hand down to his arm, where she had seen a hint of something she needed to know. His breath quickened as she slid his shirt sleeve up, to expose the brand. It was a rough, four-pointed crown, an old burn. "Who are you?"

"Rafael," he told her, pulling his arm back and straightening his sleeve. He didn't move away from her, on the pew.

"What are you thinking about?"

He caught her hand back up, and stroked her fingers. It was an intimate touch, the touch of a lover, and it didn't seem strange or wrong.

"Once, I was married and had a son. My wife... she couldn't deal with what I was. She made my son afraid of me."

"And what are you?" Buffy asked, her curiosity light and far away. The here and now was his touch on her hand, the gently touch of his thigh against hers on the bench.

His fingers stilled. "Wererat." Voice so soft, she needed Slayer hearing to make out his words.

Buffy pulled her hand out of his grasp, and he let her. Buffy felt him pulling way from her, folding in on himself, and her heart ached.

She laid her hand on his forearm and the burn mark, hidden by the cloth.

"Someone once told me that the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. I often wonder if she was right. But it's not about living for yourself, it's about living for other people."

Nothing made sense any more. She'd almost lost her sister, like she had lost so many others. She didn't know what she wanted any more.

"I have people depending on me, all the time, and it makes it easier," Rafael said, his deep voice sounding like velvet.

"Me too," Buffy said. She licked her lips, watching as Rafael's gaze focused on her mouth, like a dying man looks at his last drink.

"I want to ask you to marry me, but I don't even know you," Rafael suddenly said.

"So get to know me, then ask," Buffy replied. This whole thing was crazy, but she was used to crazy. Life was crazy.

Rafael reached up and pushed a strand of hair off her cheek. His touch was hot on her skin, and it made her close her eyes. Craving more.

"This can never work," Rafael murmured.

"Nothing works. Nothing lasts. All we have is what we try. It may take us days to break, or maybe years, but I want you to be the one to break me." Buffy opened her eyes. His face was close, almost out of focus.

"You're very strange," he whispered, lips so close.

"I've been told that," she said, then closed the last gap and kissed him.

His mouth tasted like cinnamon, hot and moist and silky. His arms slid around her body, so careful. She knew he didn't want to break her. Luckily, she was hard to break.

Later, reluctantly, they broke apart, breathing hard. When she wasn't touching him, it hurt again, so Buffy entwined her fingers with his, just so she wasn't so very alone.

"I need to leave," Rafael whispered in the hush of the church. But he kept playing with Buffy's hair, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Oh."

"Come with me," he asked, and she knew that this impulsiveness wasn't normal for him. She wanted to know his normal.

"Okay," she said. Somehow, as they stood up, hands still entwined with the promise of what was to come, life didn't hurt as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
